


Florence versus the Mile High Club

by songsaboutdrowning



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsaboutdrowning/pseuds/songsaboutdrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Florence is going mental on a flight and needs to release some tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Florence versus the Mile High Club

On the list of things that Florence doesn’t cope well with, flying ranks quite high, together with her favourite box dye colour getting discontinued, instagramming her pictures, and coming out of a charity shop empty-handed.

Tour buses, she is used to; on trains, she can make an effort to behave; but planes just drive her batty. It’s the sensation of being stuck in a small space and your ears popping and your body clock fucking over. It doesn’t even matter that there’s in-flight entertainment, ever since she got the hump that time they were watching Black Swan and the ending got cut off because they were landing. And when you look out the window, it’s either always day or always night and it’s bloody confusing.

Isa is fairly equipped to deal with Florence plane crises most of the time: she generally organises a stack on whatever seat is free with at least two books, three magazines (fashion _and_ music: you never know what mood Florence will be in), a notepad and a giant tub of gum. Which is why even she is surprised to notice Flo’s hand slip underneath the airline-issued blanket that covers her lap - the movement is very subtle, but there is absolutely no mistake what that hand’s about to do.

Florence must be _very_ bored.

Flo keeps her expression neutral, almost disinterested, like a practised artist, and the light stroking under the blanket is almost imperceptible, but it’s definitely there. Isa feels her jaw drop slightly, her cheeks getting warm; she briefly considers pulling her sleeping mask, which is currently doubling as a headband, back over her eyes, and just pretending she’s not there, but she is oddly mesmerised by the sight in front of her.

Because she’s never seen Florence come before.

Heard it, yes.

Felt it, yes.

But seen it? Hardly – unless you count a silhouette in the moonlight.

They have been sleeping together for a few months now, and not a single person in the band has a clue. Florence and Isa have always shared rooms and beds, so no one notices anything different. They don’t know how one night, in the dark, lips found lips, clothes were fumbled with, and fingers discovered secrets. Since then, it’s happened again. But it’s rare, and it’s random, and they don’t kiss each other good morning the next day.

Florence’s eyes are half closed and her head is tilted back slightly; Isa can’t tear herself away, and her breathing’s all but stopped. Only when she thinks she sees Flo’s lower lip tremble slightly, is she shaken from her paralysis. Her right hand finds its way under the blanket and closes around Flo’s wrist, bringing the rotating motion of her fingers to a halt.

“Shhh,” Isa whispers softly, not loosening her grip. “Are you _that_ nervous?”

Flo looks down at Isa with a pout that suggests regret, but no hint of embarrassment.

“Let go, Isa. I’m trying to tire myself out. I’m going crazy over here.”

“I… I’m not sure you thought this through, you know. How exactly are you going to tire yourself out when you can hardly move? And you know, we may be in business class, but there are other people here, Flo, so you can’t exactly be loud, either.”

Florence frowns. “No one would have noticed if you hadn’t been watching me like a hawk.”

“Well, I’m sorry I interrupted your… build-up,” Isa says, for lack of a better word. Her hold finally relents and her fingers distend to caress the top of Flo’s hand soothingly.

“Can you wait? Until we get to the hotel?”

“Well, then there’s no point, Isa.”

“There’s a point if – if _I’m_ the one to do it to you.”

Flo’s eyes go wide. They have never spoken about this before, let alone made plans. It’s always been spontaneous and secret and although it’s obvious that Isa enjoys it, she’s never been so forward. Most of the time, it’s Florence who initiates it, although Isa has also had moments when she’s kissed Florence out of the blue. Flo’s never asked why; it’s easier this way. Easier to act than to talk, and if they don’t talk, then they can never come to the conclusion that they must stop.

And Florence does not want to stop, because she is in love with Isa, but hasn’t told her and thinks it’s best if she never does.

On the off chance that Isa isn’t joking – on the off chance that they will really be in a hotel room in the daylight, and they will _see_ where they’re touching and tasting at last, Florence accepts to take a gamble. Her hand slips out from underneath the blanket and comes into plain sight, and Isa’s follows.

Leaning into Florence, Isabella can’t help but purr, in a promising whisper: “Good girl. Now relax and finish your book.”


End file.
